


A Perfect Fit

by flecksofpoppy



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Consensual, Kuroshitsuji Reaper Kink Meme, M/M, Office Sex, Roleplay, Spanking, Teacher-Student Relationship, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-27
Updated: 2013-09-27
Packaged: 2017-12-27 19:17:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/982624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flecksofpoppy/pseuds/flecksofpoppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Kuroshitsuji Reaper Kink Meme. Original request was: "Eric/Alan Teacher/student Roleplay - Such a sexy scenario, maybe a chance for them to live out an old fantasy. Extra points for some spanking."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Perfect Fit

“Good night,” Alan says rather cheerfully, offering Eric a friendly smile as he gets ready to leave. It’s only a few minutes until six and end of shift. 

“See you in my office?” Eric asks, poking his head out the door of his office, and Alan’s eyebrows raise.

He nods uncertainly, watching as Eric disappears from the doorway. He can hear the squeak of his office chair as he sits back down; Eric doesn’t even like his office, and apparently he’s staying in it for some reason.

Alan nervously straightens the papers on his desk, puts the pencils strewn about from a day of desk work in the drawer, buttons his jacket properly and straightens his tie. Glancing at Eric’s door, he surreptitiously takes out the small hand mirror in his desk drawer to smooth his hair into place. 

He feels as presentable as he’s going to get for a late Friday afternoon at the end of shift, and walks with feigned confidence toward Eric’s door.

He pokes his head in, and Eric has apparently been waiting for him, sitting with one leg bent up casually over his knee, arms crossed, and an expectant look on his face.

“Shut the door,” he says.

Alan shuts the door behind him and turns to find Eric’s eyes dart back to his face, as if he’s become distracted by something in the interim.

“Right, then,” Eric starts, cocking his head to the side and straightening to sit up properly. “Did you know we have your review coming up soon?”

Alan offers up his own bemused smile and nods.

“I thought it was a month off yet?”

“It is,” Eric replies without further explanation, studying him from head to toe.

Alan feels himself flush from the openly evaluative gaze, and tries not to bite his lip as Eric’s eyes travel over his entire body. He’s glad he buttoned himself up properly and can only hope that the blush isn’t evident.

“Is that the same suit you’ve always had?” he finally asks.

Alan’s eyebrows raise in surprise and he looks down at his clothing; in fact, he realizes, he’d just recently been fitted for a new suit because his old ones were looking a bit frayed. Reaping is no easy business, after all.

He’d actually thought, in a private moment he’d never admit to, that he looked rather sharp. 

Eric, apparently, also has an opinion.

“Well...” he says, rubbing the back of his head and tipping it to the side, as if trying to figure out the proper way to phrase something.

“I thought they did a rather good job,” Alan says, giving a nervous little smile. “I prefer the standard black, really.”

Alan is one of the _only_ reapers that prefers standard black and no alternate adornments or modifications, save William T. Spears.

He thinks Eric might break the strangely tense moment and laugh a bit, but instead he looks rather severe as he surveys Alan, the evaluative expression becoming critical.

Alan blanches and wonders what he did wrong. Had he been tracking blood around the Dispatch office? Perhaps taken some jealous junior’s jacket by mistake and had a complaint lodged against him? 

“It’s a bit... much,” Eric finally says with a cringe.

“Much?” Alan replies, baffled.

Eric smiles at him, and Alan smiles back for a moment, breaking the spell, until Eric clears his throat and Alan looks at the floor.

“Well,” Eric says, his voice back to normal, “you see, it’s come to my attention...”

He rises to round the desk and stand in front of Alan, still looking at him critically.

“Yes?” Alan asks.

“That your kit is a bit snug.”

Alan’s eyes widen, and he feels himself flush hotly as he looks down at his appearance.

“What do you mean exactly, Senior?” he asks, sounding self-conscious.

“Well,” Eric replies, drawing closer as he brushes his fingers lightly over Alan’s hip at the waist of his trousers. They both sigh, and Alan can’t help but close his eyes; everything is heightened and tense.

“Yes?” he whispers.

“I think they might have done a bit of a botched tailoring job, mate,” Eric breathes. Alan can hear the smile in his voice.

“How terrible,” Alan replies, opening his eyes and attempting to look scandalized.

“I might say so,” Eric says, shaking his head sadly.

“And who brought this to your attention?” Alan asks, knowing the blush is still glowing in his cheeks. “Senior Spears?”

“No,” Eric says more quietly, getting even closer until they’re a hair’s width apart. “Couldn’t help but notice it myself.”

“How might I correct such an infraction?” Alan whispers, folding his hands demurely and looking at the floor.

“You might start by taking off your jacket so I can at least have a look.”

Alan’s eyebrows raise, but he slowly does as asked.

“Tailor might be a bit of a git. Let’s have a look at those seams,” he says, accepting the jacket from Alan.

Eric has a look over the seams of the jacket, and then turns his eyes back to Alan with an eyebrow raised.

“Excellent quality,” he says, slinging the jacket over the back of his own chair. “Obviously not in a rush.”

He looks Alan up and down again, and Alan’s cheeks burn.

“Oi, mate, you think you’re clever, giving special requests?”

“Special requests?” Alan squeaks out, shifting in what he assumes is a nervous movement. “No! I didn’t... but-"

“Don’t give me grief, Humphries. It’s obvious you’ve been messing about to show off your... assets.”

“What are you on about?” Alan cries. “I’ve never done any such thing!”

“Right,” Eric says, pursing his lips and crossing his arms, “come stand here, next to the desk. I’ll show you if you’re still denying it.”

Alan bites his lip; the idea of Eric pointing out where his clothing is too revealing, maybe even touching him, sends a surge of heat straight to his cock. 

Eric just stares at him with a raised eyebrow until Alan finally takes a few hesitant steps forward to stand facing the desk.

“Now,” Eric says authoritatively, and Alan’s shoulders tense as Eric moves to stand behind him, “if you’re going to carry on about your innocence...”

Alan fights the urge to groan as he feels Eric’s fingers brush over his shoulders and then throat.

“This,” he starts, sliding Alan’s bolo tie out of its clasp and pulling it over his head, “is the only kit you’ve got on right now that’s acceptable.”

Eric places the tie gently on the desk and then gets very close. Alan can feel the heat of his body, but he doesn’t press fully against him.

“I’ll start with this waistcoat,” Eric murmurs. 

Alan tries not to gasp too loudly as Eric settles very light fingers against his sides and then slides around to meet against his stomach.

“This,” he growls into Alan’s ear as he nimbly unfastens the buttons of the waistcoat, “is far too snug. It looks like a bloody corset. Take that off as well.”

Alan moves to turn around, but Eric holds him in place around the waist.

“Put your hands on my desk,” he says calmly, “until I’m done with you. You’re not to move until I’ve pointed out all the mistakes you’ve made.”

Alan tenses, but then slowly places both hands on Eric’s desk, palms down; he has to bend forward slightly to do so, and his face starts to burn.

Eric draws the waistcoat down Alan’s arms and tosses it next to his jacket; Alan bites his lip as he settles his hands back where they were.

“You look like you’re going to work at a bloody molly house,” he whispers, slowly pulling Alan’s shirttails out from where they’re neatly tucked into his trousers.

Eric’s stubble brushes against Alan’s skin where he’s leaned forward to whisper into his ear, and Alan can’t help the moan that makes its way out of his throat.

“Sounds like it as well,” Eric adds in a low voice, sliding his hands up Alan’s sides. “And this shirt. I can barely even get a finger underneath of it.”

Eric demonstrates this point by trying to slide a few fingers under the bottom of the fabric and brushing against Alan’s side.

Alan fights to retain his composure; he fails miserably as his body rebels against him, and his back arches as soon as he feels Eric’s touch against his bare skin.

“Oh, is that it, then?” Eric asks, keeping his fingers where they are and using his other hand to slowly unbutton Alan’s shirt. “Begging for it? I’ll bet you take it every dinner hour, don’t you? Bent over in the supply closet, shirt open and whimpering like a bloody cat in heat?”

Alan moans outright now, as he feels Eric finally press against him. There’s a very noticeable hardness in his trousers, and Alan tries not to pant.

“I don’t, Senior. I swear,” he whimpers.

Eric gets his shirt undone and then lets it hang open, pulling his hands away.

Alan makes a disgruntled, frustrated noise, and Eric laughs low under his breath.

“And the worst, Humphries,” he says after a moment, pressing up against Alan again, “are your sodding trousers. You might as well parade around naked for all the good they do.”

Eric’s hands settle at his hips, and Alan pushes back against him.

“Bloody tart,” he whispers, pressing his nose against Alan’s hair and inhaling. “Goading me all this time, driving me mad.”

He can’t help the cry he gives as Eric _finally_ slides a clever set of fingers down between his legs and squeezes through the fabric.

“You enjoy tarting about, don’t you?” Eric murmurs, massaging at Alan’s (very stiff) cock. “Maybe even a bit of cottaging on the side, in the living world?”

“No, Senior. I don’t,” Alan moans pathetically, moving his hips with Eric’s hand.

“You’re a slag and a liar,” Eric breathes into his ear. “I don’t think you’ll ever graduate with this attitude, Humphries. Best instruct you.”

Without preamble, Eric reaches around to unfasten Alan’s trousers and let them fall down his legs.

“Just as I said,” he whispers, trailing his fingers over Alan’s hips, “might as well be reaping naked, the way those trousers fit. Now bend over.”

Alan turns his head slightly to look at Eric, and Eric raises an eyebrow at him.

“Did you hear me?”

Alan nods pathetically, and slowly bends forward, pressing his chest against the desk.

He flinches, even though he knows it’s coming, as Eric gives him a light swat on the ass.

“What an embarrassment,” Eric says in a calm voice, landing another open-palmed slap there.

“With those snug trousers...”

_Smack._

“And fitted shirts,” he whispers, giving Alan two slaps at once, one on either cheek.

Alan is crimson at his point, breathing hard and tense, as Eric reprimands him for his wardrobe choices. 

After a few minutes of this discipline, his skin is tender and hyper sensitive.

“You won’t admit to it?” Eric growls at him, and lands one more slap against Alan’s ass.

Alan shivers and gives a pained cry, and Eric gently rubs his hip as if in apology.

“No,” he replies staunchly. 

Alan doesn’t have much more time to deny the accusations, because Eric has rather deftly used two fingers to spread him apart and rub at his entrance.

“One way to find out what you’ve been up to,” Eric replies, and Alan just moans. 

“Listen to yourself,” Eric adds in feigned disgust, making maddening circles at one of the most sensitive places on Alan’s body. “Begging for it like a wanton whore.”

“Yes,” Alan moans desperately, spreading his legs apart further. “I admit it, Senior Slingby. You were right about the suit.”

Alan gives a sharp cry as Eric dips just the tip of his finger inside.

“But I don’t tart around,” he practically sobs, desperately pushing his hips back against Eric’s fingers, eyes closed. “I only want you.”

“Bollocks,” Eric retorts coldly.

Alan makes a distressed, desperate sound as Eric pulls away, but he stays where he is.

Eric goes poking around Alan’s jacket until he finds what he’s looking for – a small vial of oil. Alan shivers as soon as he sees it, and he arches his back, aching for Eric to touch him.

Eric slicks two of his fingers up and returns to his former position behind Alan.

“Spread your legs,” he commands.

Alan immediately spreads his legs further apart; his entire body is burning with embarrassment, knowing Eric can see everything, but also with arousal. The combination of humiliation and lust swirl around in him madly until he can’t even think anymore.

The only thing he’s sure about is that he wants Eric to touch him.

Eric doesn’t touch him immediately, however, much to Alan’s chagrin. Instead, he drops to his knees and unceremoniously spreads Alan to look.

Alan bites his lip, and his legs shake as Eric finally pushes one of his fingers inside.

And then the noise that comes out of him, when he feels Eric’s tongue in the same place alongside his finger, is one he’s suddenly horrified to realize could draw some unwanted attention from other parts of the Dispatch.

Thankfully, no such thing happens; but he can’t hold it in any longer. He starts to let out ragged, breathless cries every time Eric pushes his finger forward; he knows exactly what to do with his tongue in combination, and Alan is so dizzy with pleasure he doesn’t even notice Eric standing up.

He bends over Alan, his chest against Alan’s back, and then pushes two fingers back into him, fucking him as he speaks.

“From what I can tell, you’re telling the truth. I’m a bit shocked, Humphries.”

Alan desperately tries to press up against Eric, and is made even more crazed by the fact that Eric is intentionally not allowing him too much contact of skin against skin.

He tries to reply, but the words come out in nothing more than a gurgle of moaning.

“Still,” he muses, seemingly unaffected by the fact that Alan is twisting under him like an earthworm trying to make sense of the ground, “I am required as your mentor to discipline you for infractions.”

“Eric,” Alan shudders desperately.

“It’s Senior Slingby, you git,” Eric retorts, and pulls his fingers out of Alan.

There’s the sound of a vial, the slick of oil on flesh, and then, Alan feels like he can stop desperately begging with pathetic sounds as he feels Eric’s cock pressed against him.

He feels Eric smile against his neck, and kiss him there, and he can’t help but smile too, regardless of the fact they’re supposed to be living out a fantasy.

Eric pulls one of Alan’s legs up onto the desk and slowly enters him, regaining control of the scene. Alan melts back into it, heat spinning crazily in his body, as he feels Eric’s cock inside him.

“You’ll wear what I tell you,” Eric whispers into his ear as he starts to fuck him, “and not try to tart around with whoever it is you’re trying to impress.”

Alan shoves his hips back against Eric in a rhythm of rough, desperate sex, and he makes a guilty sound.

“I just want to impress you, Senior,” he replies in a disarmed groan.

Eric scatters kisses over Alan’s shoulders and neck despite his harsh words, and Alan lets out a delicate moan.

“Alan... bloody hell, you feel so good,” Eric shudders as he gets faster.

“Eric,” Alan gasps as Eric reaches down to toss him off at the same time.

There’s no use in trying to keep character now; Alan closes his eyes, and he can almost remember being driven mad by that smell Eric always had about him - something like aftershave - spicy and masculine and intoxicating.

The first time Eric kissed him was in this office, and there wasn’t any talk of discipline for inappropriate attire.

It was more the way Eric sounds when he comes, breathless and painfully vulnerable, gasping Alan’s name and pressing his cheek against his back.

Alan has nearly the same reaction as he releases into Eric’s hand, and they both crumple bonelessly against each other.

Finally, once Alan gathers enough strength to stand properly, he turns around with a tired, sated sigh.

Eric grins at him and pulls him close, pressing a kiss to his hair.

Alan’s question is muffled by Eric’s chest as he asks, “Did you really fancy me... before everything?”

A rumble of laughter travels through Eric, and before Alan knows what’s happening, he’s being pulled down onto the floor. Eric ends up on his back with Alan on top of him, arms wrapped tightly his body.

Finally, he grunts in response, still not answering, and it’s Alan’s turn to laugh. He knows, in Eric’s language, that it’s an affirmative.

“Those trousers really did make me mental,” he finally murmurs, and Alan tips his head up to look at Eric’s face.

He leans forward for a kiss, and Eric gives a contented sigh as they part after a moment.

“Bit of curry back at the flat then?”

Alan curls against him like a cat, smiling lazily and making a sound that’s somewhere between agreement and on the edge of dozing off to sleep.

“Having a bit of a nod off when I’m talking to you?” Eric says, his voice openly affectionate as he strokes Alan’s hair. “Rather insubordinate, Humphries.”

Alan agrees wholeheartedly. And infractions must always be dealt with, after all.


End file.
